


Balls to the Wall

by Duckyboos



Series: Fucking With Fire [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Prison, BAMF Castiel, Barebacking, Bottom Castiel, M/M, Older Castiel, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Castiel, Prison Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, Russian Mafia, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Top Dean, Younger Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Duckyboos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“ – Next thing I know, he’s chopping the body in fucking half like some kind of Russian lumberjack, throwing my knife at me and telling me not to be such a dizzy cunt in the future.”</p>
<p>The whole table cracks up laughing like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard and Dean is more than aware that stories like this should make him wanna run for the hills; they would have done a year ago, but now? Man, he feels nothing but pure fucking pride that the crazy son of a bitch decided he liked Dean. And it’s not just ‘cause he’d rather be next to Cas than in his fucking way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Castiel tests Dean's loyalty. Dean passes with flying colors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balls to the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies that this has taken so long. As usual, I'm posting this as I'm falling asleep at my keyboard and without any kind of beta, so please forgive any and all mistakes. At the earliest possibly opportunity, I'll go over it and tweak.

If somebody had told Dean less than a year ago that he’d not only be sharing a cell with, but – and this is the really important part – fucking a real, _actual_ dude in the Russian Mafia, then Dean would have demanded that they seek help for their crippling addiction to hallucinogens.

And then maybe asked if he could have some.

The best – or worst, depending on the viewpoint – thing about the entire situation is that Cas isn’t just some random henchman-lackey either. No, Cas is a fucking ‘Authority’. Which is still something that never fails to get Dean’s engine revving; the way that this beautiful, strong man who has killed with his bare hands, bends over for him, taking everything that Dean has to offer and yet still managing to be the scary motherfucker that no-one would dare cross.

He’s totally in awe of Cas. Has been since he discovered that he has nothing to fear from him. In fact, it’s just the opposite; anybody who gets on _Dean’s_ wrong side has plenty to fear from Cas.

Which is why it’s awkward trying to tell his fifteen-year-old brother that everything is fine; that as soon as Dean gets out in a few months that he’s going to pull Sammy out of the foster care system, that it’s all gonna be okay.

Cas has assured him that everything is gonna work out. And Cas never lies. It’s that simple. Dean trusts Castiel with his life. Cas has done enough to earn it a million times over, which is more than he can say for anyone else he’s ever encountered.

He’s not entirely sure what that says about him. Or the rest of humanity.

 

***

 

“…So we’re on this job and Castiel is trying to be all menacing –” Sitting down at the table with a bunch of guys who he would very tentatively call friends – the term is relative – feels too comfortable, too easy in a place that should be one of penance and punishment, but so far has failed completely and utterly to deter Dean from a life of crime when he gets out in six months and eight days. In fact, Dean will be stepping up his criminal activities when he leaves - just another statistic to add to the recidivism rates; just another scumbag with poor impulse control.

Castiel doesn’t acknowledge him straight away as Dean slides his tray full of spaghetti bolognaise – which is really only paying lip service to the title, ‘cause Dean is pretty sure that spaghetti bolognaise doesn’t have a green tint to it – onto the tabletop; instead, he’s too busy staring across the busy mess hall at the table of new fish, just arrived yesterday. Cas hasn’t spoken to any of them, but he already knows everything he needs to. They’re mostly petty crooks; a couple of armed robberies, couple of firearms offenses, but there is one guy – Azazel – who Cas recognized when going over the admissions paperwork very carefully left ‘lying around’ by one of the CO’s a few days back.

“ – And I get my knife wedged between his fucking ribs and the cops are on the way. It’s my favorite knife, what am I supposed to do?” There’s a murmur of assent around the table, like they’re talking about carburetors or darts, rather than a murderer bitching about stabbing someone so hard that his favorite knife gets stuck in the victim. “So anyway, Castiel gets really pissed off with me and disappears. I’m thinking he’s left me there to face the fucking cops alone, but then I hear the smashing of glass, and seconds later the crazy bastard is striding back in with a bloody hand and a goddamn fire ax!”

Dean slots himself between Cas and another inmate and friend to the Russian Mafia, who looks like every stereotypical Russian baddie Dean has ever seen; he even has the ridiculous scar that stretches across a preposterous amount of his face. His name is probably Igor or Vladimir.

“ – Next thing I know, he’s chopping the body in fucking _half_ like some kind of Russian lumberjack, throwing my knife at me and telling me not to be such a dizzy cunt in the future.”

The whole table cracks up laughing like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard and Dean is more than aware that stories like this should make him wanna run for the hills; they would have done a year ago, but now? Man, he feels nothing but pure fucking pride that the crazy son of a bitch decided he liked Dean. And it’s not just ‘cause he’d rather be next to Cas than in his fucking way.

“Looked like split beef.” Cas murmurs distractedly, looking down at the mush on his tray that looks relatively untouched. “I could go in for some of that right now.” He shoves his tray away across the table with a disgusted noise, before turning his attention to Dean sitting to his right.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel leans in towards him, just a brush of lips against Dean’s ear. It’s crazy just how comforting that simple gesture has become over the past year. It makes him feel safe in a way that he hasn’t felt since his mom was alive.

“Hey Cas,” Dean flashes his most flirty smile, oozing Winchester charm, “want my chocolate pudding?”

“You got chocolate pudding _again_?” And Cas gets this weird, strangely child-like look on his face, like his friends/colleagues weren’t just talking about the time he chopped somebody in fucking half. “I never get chocolate pudding. Doris hates me.”

“Nah, you’re just talking to her wrong.” Dean pulls the little plastic tab back, pleased when the lid comes off in one, then brings it up to his mouth and licks it, _nice and slowly_ , tongue lapping up the sickly chocolate a little more salaciously than is strictly necessary. “Mmm, tastes good.”

“Should I be jealous?” Castiel asks, amused. Dean can’t help the little spark that Cas’s words ignite though; a Pavlovian response now. Castiel is a jealous, possessive bastard. Dean enjoys riling him up. Not every day can be shivving some scumbag in the showers or Mafia-y deals, so Dean has learned to enjoy the little things when he can.

Done with the lid, he hums as he spoons in a mouthful of the goopy, sweet stuff, swallowing it down before replying, “Of Doris or the pudding?”

Castiel allows a small, private grin and for a second – just a split second – Dean allows himself to forget where they are; imagines that they’re at a barbecue with friends, that he’s flirting with his long-term boyfriend. “Either - or.”

Dean licks the spoon, tongue dipping into the curve of the metal, “Just demand it Cas, you fucking run this place anyway.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Even I’m not that brave. Doris is old school; she’s not above doing something unsavory to the food. Or more specifically, _my food_.”

Dean snorts out a laugh, “Old school, huh?” He twists round on the bench seat to watch the cafeteria line where Doris is scooping claggy spaghetti onto con’s plates. “How old do you think she is? I mean, is she like _your_ age old or?”

“You’d better watch it, Winchester. You’re not too big for a spanking –”

“Winchester! Didn’t see you there!”

Dean tries not to flinch when Gabriel physically inserts himself between him and Cas, slinging an arm across his shoulders, pulling him in close like they’ve been best friends their whole lives. Dean’s under no illusions that if it ever came to it, Gabriel wouldn’t hesitate in killing him.

That’s been the hardest part to remember in all this; these men, these criminals who love him now ‘cause he’s fucking their boss, are not his friends. Not in the real sense anyway. They’ll be loyal until it’s time not to be.

In a way, it’s refreshingly honest.

Certainly more honest than high school ever was anyway.

“Hey, Dean-o, when you’ve finished performing cunnilingus on the pudding, mind if I have a little conversation with you?”

Dean leans forward to look past Gabe at Cas, trying to catch his eye, but Cas is focused elsewhere already, deep in conversation with an inmate whose stomach rests on the tabletop. If Cas is okay with it and has no problems, then Dean is too.

He trusts Cas, and by extension Gabriel. Has no reason not to.

“Sure.”

 

***

 

Castiel has explained their hierarchy plenty of times, but Dean doesn’t really take much of it in, beyond the knowledge that Cas is really high up the food chain and everyone else he’s encountered so far in prison are his subordinates.

Gabriel is giving it another go as they walk down a suspiciously deserted corridor towards the laundry room. “So you’ve seen The Godfather, right?”

Dean nods wordlessly, too busy wondering just what Gabriel is driving at to really focus on the words he’s using to get there. He can’t think of a single thing that he could be about to get a beat down for, no reason that he can fathom, nobody he’s upset, besides enemies of Cas and the Russian Mafia. So if it’s not a beat down, then maybe it’s a talk about the future? Cas has made vague allusions to release dates and contingencies in case parole isn’t granted, but that’s all been in their periphery vision; perhaps Gabe is going to hammer out some details? It’s all really just guesswork, so Dean figures he should start listening before jumping to conclusions.

“Okay, well Cas is kind of the equivalent of a capo. There are only four of them in the entirety of the Mafia, so he controls a fucking lot and has a lot of influence.”

As if Dean didn’t already know that. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about? To give me some warped version of the ‘hurt my friend and I’ll kill you speech’? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’m prepared to believe you.”

Gabriel laughs easily, a sparkle of mirth in those whisky-colored eyes. _Goddamn_ , what Dean wouldn’t do for a bottle of Jack right now. “I like you, Dean. You’re a mouthy little shit.”

“Bigger than you short stack.” The banter comes easily and effortlessly, like they’re old time friends interacting casually. Dean can’t be assed giving a shit what that says about him. He pushes open the door to the deserted laundry room, and allows Gabriel to go in first. It’s as much a courtesy as security; despite Cas’s standing in prison, there are still those who don’t see Dean as anything more than theirs for the taking. It doesn’t do to be careless in situations like this.

“Mmmm,” Gabriel rakes his gaze over Dean appreciatively as he slinks through the doorway, a little closer to Dean than is strictly necessary “that you are.” He reaches up to squeeze Dean’s bare bicep, “you work out a lot?”

Dean swallows hard against his discomfort. Gabe is tactile and flirty with practically everyone. He tells himself that it doesn’t mean anything, “As if there’s anything else to do around here.” The door closes behind them with an ominous thump that makes Dean’s heart race a little faster.

“Hmm,” Gabriel releases Dean’s arm, choosing instead to place the palm of his hand in the center of Dean’s chest, “well then Cas is wasting an opportunity, ‘cause I’d ensure that the only thing you’d be doing twenty-four hours a day, is me.” The sentence is accompanied by an unabashed leer that would put most sex offenders to shame.

Dean tries not to react, he really does, but there’s a world of difference between Gabriel’s usual flirty nonsense and him blatantly making a move. “ _What?”_

Gabriel smirks as he crowds Dean against the door, “Oh come on Dean. You’d have to be blind or dead to not want you. And even then it’s debatable.”

Well, _fuck_. This puts Dean in somewhat of a situation. Which might be the understatement of the year. He needs a way out of this and fucking fast. He clears his throat and wraps his hand around Gabriel’s wrist in an attempt to prize him away “That’s really… _sweet_ and everything Gabriel. And I’m flattered. But you know that I’m with Cas – _your boss_ –“

“Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Gabriel leans in and brushes his lips against Dean’s ear in a disturbing parody of Cas at the table earlier. “And if you don’t tell him, I won’t hurt you.”

Gabriel pulls back, sensing Dean’s sudden change in attitude and grins like he’s just been given access to free candy for life, “Not that he would believe you anyway.”

Which just confirms Dean’s doubts; these men have been to Hell and back together. Who is Castiel going to believe? One of his trusted friends or some _kid_ he’s been screwing around with for the last twelve months? Loyalty is so important in Cas’s world.

Which technically includes him, even if he’s not been in it as long as Gabriel. In as even a voice as he can muster, he says, “I’m not going to sleep with you Gabriel.”

Gabriel closes his eyes, shaking his head, “Who said anything about sleep Dean-o? And from where I’m standing, it’s not looking like you have a whole host of options.”

Unfortunately, Gabriel is right. Dean really doesn’t have any options aside from one, but he’s willing to bet that it’s not one Gabriel has really considered as a viable one.

“You need to let me go.”

“That’s _so_ not what I need, Dean.” He shoves Dean’s thin white tank up over his toned stomach, smoothing a hand over Dean’s bare skin. Dean grits his teeth, silently seething as he weighs up what to do.

_Fuck this._

Gabriel grunts when Dean’s knee connects neatly and firmly with his balls. “Fuck you Gabriel.” He smiles sardonically as Gabriel doubles over, wheezing, “Just not in the way you were hoping, huh?”

“You’re…gonna pay for that,” Gabriel rasps, as he tries to straighten up. “Gonna tell Castiel that I fucked you like a little bitch in heat and that you loved it. He’s gonna string you up by your balls and let everyone in the prison have a go at you until your ass is like a clown’s pocket. Then you’ll be used up and worthless and –“

It’s more reflex than anything when Dean’s fist crashes into Gabriel’s nose, bone crunching beneath his knuckles, snapping Gabe’s head to the side.

“I’d shut up if I were you, _Gabe_ ,” Dean hisses as he grabs a fistful of honey-colored hair, forcing Gabriel to look at him, blood smeared across his face. Gabriel grapples for Dean’s wrist, trying to loosen his grip, to no avail. Dean takes some sick pleasure in the idea that the muscles Gabriel was appreciating moments ago are the very same reason that he’s on the verge of having his hair torn out by the roots. “’Cause I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s gonna be getting gangbanged every night. Cas doesn’t take kindly to betrayal.”

 

***

It doesn’t matter that Cas is mafia. It doesn’t count for jack shit, because Dean is angry. So fucking angry that he’s storming into the prison library, fists clenched, anger thrumming through his veins in a way that – in the interests of self-preservation – is dangerous, ‘cause it’s uncontrollable. It doesn’t do to be uncontrollable around Cas, but yet he’s striding up to where Cas is sitting, hunched over one of the three long tables, reading glasses on, concentrating on the huge tome open in front of him. The three other chairs around the table are empty, though with the way Dean’s feeling right now, it wouldn’t make much of a difference if Cas’s entire entourage was sitting with (not guarding though, ‘cause Cas is far too fucking scary to need _guarding_ ) him.

Before he can stop himself or really consider the consequences, he’s yanking Cas’s book out from under him and tossing it across the library with the same care he used to give Sam’s biology books when the little shit hadn’t done the dishes like Dean asked for the millionth time.

“What the actual fuck, Cas?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Castiel replies, bizarrely cool in a way that he hasn’t been since Dean’s first few weeks, “that book is very precious.” He slides his glasses off, folds them up, and places them carefully on the table in the same place that the book just vacated.

“And I’m not? Are you content with your little mob buddies fucking me ‘cause that’s what Gabriel just tried to do!” When Castiel doesn’t respond in any visible way, just carries on blinking up at him, realization slaps Dean around the face in a style strangely similar to one of the Russian’s epic backhanders, “Or did you know about it? Was I some kind of party favor to be passed around?”

There are a couple of other prisoners searching through the stacks, gradually inching closer, listening in to the conversation. Apparently Castiel has had enough though because he says in a low, imperious voice, “Leave. Now.”

There’s nothing but the sound of Dean’s harsh breaths for a precious few seconds as the others vacate the library, not even deigning to grumble under their breath. Dean’s beginning to wish that he had their sense.

The library door bumps shut as the last prisoner leaves and finally Castiel answers, level and calm as shit, “I needed to know.”

This nonchalant attitude is getting old, _real_ fast. “Know what?!”

Castiel sighs, like Dean’s being completely unreasonable, “Where your loyalties lie.”

“You’d better start making sense real fucking soon, Cas or –“

Dangerously fast Cas is up and out of his seat and Dean’s space is very rapidly filled with a very angry Russian, blue eyes cold and menacing. Roughly, Cas grips Dean’s jaw with his right hand, wrenching Dean’s head back, shoving him into the shelves, making Dean bite back on a yelp. “Or _what_ , Dean?”

So this is it. Step up or get broken down. Dean is quietly terrified, but he can’t quit now or Cas will lose all respect for him. Fuck, he’ll lose all respect for himself. He swallows hard, “Or I’m gonna break your fucking nose. Like I did Gabriel’s. Seems like all that training is paying off after all, so don’t doubt that I can’t or _won’t_ do it, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t back away, doesn’t release his painful grip on Dean’s jaw, but the tiniest bit of warmth seeps into his eyes, and Dean feels caught in the pull of them, can’t look away, no matter how much he wants to. “You broke Gabriel’s nose?”

Dean manages to refrain from rolling his eyes, but can’t seem to help the sarcasm, “Yes, because that’s the important thing to focus on here.”

Castiel tightens his grip, fingertips digging in to Dean’s flesh to the point of pain, “You’re not scared of me.” It’s not a question, more a sudden realization on Cas’s part.

“Not scared of _you_.” Dean confirms, his voice a quiet rasp, stripped to the bone, taken apart by the way Cas is looking at him, head ever-so-slightly tilted, listening intently, “Scared of the things you’re capable of sometimes, scared of the way you make me feel… I just…” he trails off, floundering for a way to explain it in a way that Cas might understand with his icy Russian heart. “I choose to not let it get in the way.”

“Of?”

“Are you really this emotionally retarded?” One look at Cas’s blank expression gives Dean the answer that he already knew, but he still asks his follow-up question, “Don’t you have any idea how I feel about you?”

Cas blinks like he doesn’t understand and Dean feels a twinge of sympathy.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re what thirty-eight –“

“Thirty seven.” Cas corrects, somewhat indignantly, which makes Dean choke out a mangled approximation of a laugh.

“ – You’re old as fuck, you’ve probably seen more shit than I can ever compute, you’ve killed several – ” Cas raises an incredulous brow, almost accusatory, asking if Dean could really be that naive, “ – dozens – ” a barely perceptible shake of Cas’s head tells Dean that he’s still way off, “ – _hundreds_? Jesus fuck – of people and yet you have no concept of why I might actually give a shit about you beyond a fuck and a meal ticket? That right?”

Cas pulls back, finally releasing Dean, looking somewhat – if Dean didn’t know any better – bashful, maybe quietly proud, “Most of that was somewhat… accurate, yes. And I am not ‘old as fuck’.”

Dean rubs a hand over his aching jaw. “I’m gonna start calling you Doris.”

“Do it and see what happens.” But it’s not a threat, not in the fear-provoking sense of mere moments ago. Dean is struck by the image of some poor fucker with an axe in his back and finds that it’s all too easy to not actually feel anything. So many things are easy to justify when it doesn’t affect you directly.

_And when you’re infatuated with the perpetrator._

They’re silent for a few seconds, both seemingly in quiet contemplation until Dean reaches out, sliding his hand around the back of Cas’s neck, pulling him closer until their lips are centimeters apart, watching Cas’s pupils expanding to accommodate Dean’s reflection. “Listen to me, you Russian bastard. I am loyal to you. Not the Russian Mafia. Not Gabe. Not anyone else, but _you_.”

Castiel’s breath is heavy and shaky when he finally exhales against Dean’s lips, “Yeah?”

_God_ , but Cas is so fucking beautiful, so fucking dangerous. So needy for Dean’s dick. But Dean needs Cas just as much. Needs to be in that gorgeous, tight ass like he needs air. Needs the power trip that it brings.

“’m yours Cas. Only yours. I’d do anything for you.” It’s not a lie, could _never_ be a lie. “Tell me what you want and I’ll do it. Anything Cas. Anything for you.”

Cas doesn’t even think before he responds, the words rushed out on a heavy exhale, “Get naked. Now.”

 

***

He and Cas have never done this before. Dean’s always wanted to, but not sure if it was something that would get Cas’s motor running. Judging by the frantic thrusting of his hips and the bitten-back gasps, it doesn’t only get Cas’s motor running, it breaks the fucking land speed record.

Cas is braced on his elbows over the table, scrub pants pooled around his ankles. Dean is knelt down behind Cas’s spread legs, fingers digging into the firm flesh of Cas’s perfect ass, pulling his cheeks apart, holding him open so that Dean can keep flicking his tongue over Cas’s hole, steadily working to get his tongue past the tight muscle. Dean is pretty sure that he’ll never get enough of this; Cas tastes like heaven and looks like sin, all spread out for him like a divine offering. A soft cry escapes from Cas’s lips as Dean’s tongue penetrates him, a cry that goes straight to Dean’s already rock hard cock.

“Dean,” Cas reaches back, grabs hold of Dean’s hair, fingers twisting through the strands painfully, nails digging into Dean’s scalp, and pulls him further forward into his ass – a wordless demand (‘cause even when Cas begs, it’s not really begging; closer to impatient pleas) for more, faster, deeper.

Dean can feel Cas’s hole clench around his tongue in time with an especially loud moan, and shoves his tongue in deep, pushing as far as he can until his teeth scrape flush against Cas, and the moan gets louder and the hand in his hair gets tighter.

“ _Dean_.”

Cas fucks back on Dean’s tongue with fitful whines and breathless promises of vengeance if Dean even _thinks_ about stopping.

At this point Dean wouldn’t even begin to know how to stop, so instead he sinks his middle finger into the burning heat of Cas’s hole, alongside the dip of his tongue. Cas’s whole body jerks as Dean begins to pump the entire length of his finger in and out, building a steady rhythm that has the dude in the Russian mafia babbling nonsense, spewing obscenities and clutching Dean’s hair so tight that there’s a scary likelihood that Dean will come out of this with bald patches.

So much control. Dean may be the one on his knees, but he’s never felt more powerful. It’s got nothing to do with his recently developed muscles and everything to do with the beautiful man writhing on his tongue like he’s being paid for it. The man who by his own admission has killed hundreds of people, the man who has no qualms about chopping someone in half with an axe is begging (insistently imploring) Dean, a nineteen year drop out with ten bucks to his name, to fuck him.

There is no drug in the world that could make Dean fly this high.

He slides another finger in alongside the first, pushing deep, bringing his face against the curve of Cas’s ass, tongue sweeping across the skin in broad lingering licks that have Cas’s breath coming in little hiccupped groans. Dean twists his fingers, scissors them, spreading Cas wide, relishing the breathless chant of “Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” that he receives in return.

“If you don’t fuck me now –“ Cas growls, threat unfinished, words breaking off with a grunt as Dean pulls his fingers out of him.

“Then _what_ Cas?” Dean mocks, straightening up from his kneeling position, yanking frantically at his clothing, tugging his prison scrubs down enough to free his cock. He’s past the point of caring whether Cas knows that he needs this just as bad.

Cas’s answer never comes as Dean chooses that moment to line himself up behind him, spit-coated dick in hand, glans slipping along the curve of Cas’s cheek, over his lax receptive hole.

He pulls Cas’s cheeks apart, watching himself slowly disappearing into Cas’s body, fingertips trembling with the exertion of holding back, keeping himself in check. He knows that Cas can take it, probably _wants_ Dean to just fuck into him without any preamble, but this is Dean’s show and he’s doing it his way, even if it is slowly killing him.

“Always take it so good for me Cas,” Dean pants, half way between awe and desperation, “wish you could see it. See how you open up for me.”

Cas gasps as Dean sinks further into his body, splitting him wide; tight, hot perfection that Dean never wants to leave, so good it’s almost crippling. He slides his hands over the smooth curve of Cas’s ass, fingertips settling into the wings of his hipbones, pressing crescent-shaped bruises there as Cas gasps out, “Need you to fuck me Dean. Wanna take your cock. All of it. Give it to me. _Fuck me_.”

There’s just no way Dean can argue with that, and with one brutal shove of his hips, he’s burying himself inside Cas hard and quick and deep, not letting either of them catch their breath, before dragging out, pulling to the rim, slamming back in, bodies fusing and grinding.

“Dean, _fuck_.” Cas may _sound_ desperate, needy, even fragile, but he’s far from it. He _looks_ vulnerable, spread out in front of Dean, legs shaking, teeth gritted, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the table to keep his hips from slamming into it as he takes what Dean is giving. But the real trip is knowing the truth, knowing that Dean gets to royally fuck Cas, only because Cas _allows_ him to. Cas is completely in control of his own actions, and by extension, Dean’s.

Dean can feel his muscles winding into knots, sweat prickling at the back of his neck, drilling into Castiel hard enough that he won’t be able to sit down for _days,_ fucking him until he’s a useless, incoherent mess.

Their rhythm picks up as Dean runs a hand up Cas’s back, feeling the bumps of Cas’s spine beneath his palm, forcing Cas’s head down, cheek pressed against the table, pinning him down with his bulk. Dean clumsily kicks Cas’s legs apart to get further inside, his fingers tightening on the back of Cas’s neck, hips slamming against the lithe body beneath him.

He’s driving the breath from Cas’s lungs with every thrust and Cas is making choked off noises between intermittent moans of Dean’s name and the occasional “oh fuck.” It’s good, so so good and Dean isn’t sure how much longer he can last with Cas undulating his hips back against his for more force and grind to meet his thrusts.

“Gonna come for me Cas?”

Cas just hisses through his teeth, his aching, leaking cock trapped beneath his stomach and the smooth wood of the table. It must be the sweetest form of torture; friction, but not quite enough to come –

“I need to hear it again,” Cas’s voice is utterly wrecked, torn up and guttural and Dean instinctively knows what it is that Cas needs, too far gone himself to even think about refusing or teasing.

“Always you, Cas… Will always be loyal to you.” He rides Cas good and deep, humping his ass, thrusts becoming desperate and uneven. “ _My Avtoityet_.”

“ _Fuck_.”

And that’s it. Cas loses it, whole body trembling and pulsing, rippling against Dean as he comes over the table and his own thighs, hot and messy and sticky. Dean fucks into him, pressed in deep, surging up onto the balls of his feet with every thrust into Cas’s lax body, screwing him right through his orgasm and out the other side.

“Jesus, _fuck_ Cas. Gonna.” The warning is pointless ‘cause he’s already flooding Cas with his load, riding Cas’s aftershocks, hips pumping furiously, all rhythm lost to the fucking ecstasy engulfing every nerve ending, leaving nothing but the clear pull where their bodies are still connected as Dean collapses on top of Cas with a satisfied groan.

It’s a few seconds of labored breathing before the tentative silence is broken by Dean.

“Y’know, I’m a little insulted that you thought I’d just fuck off with Gabriel at the earliest available opportunity.” Castiel doesn’t offer Dean any response other than silence which Dean is gonna assume means that Cas is sorry.

He continues, “I mean, I wouldn’t offer just _anyone_ my chocolate pudding Cas.”

Underneath him, he hears the soft huff of laughter.


End file.
